Naked
by ShonenAiSorcerer
Summary: Yohji wants to see Aya naked. Shonen ai.  After re-reading, I upped the rating on this, but it's only fair to warn you that there's no sex...read anyway?


Naked

* * *

It was all about timing.

Not sex. Well, not just sex. But that wasn't on Yohji's mind, well, it was, but with that option out of the picture for the time being, he was satisfying himself (just before _satisfying_ himself) by seeing Aya naked.

He had wasted months, almost a whole year, under the assumption that Aya was consumed by personal modesty. Looking back, Yohji couldn't figure out where the idea came from; true, Aya favored bulky sweaters and loose jeans and never wore his boxers around the house like some people, but he also changed in front of them when he had to and went with Omi to the public baths.

It was this latter fact that had tipped Yohji off. He didn't think it was particularly a secret, but Omi had looked slightly guilty when he let it slip one Thursday that he and Aya had plans; of course, Yohji instantly asked if it was a real date with kissing and everything to which Omi's reply was a blushing denial that did more to harm his case than help it. Aya had been forced to intervene, telling Yohji to leave Omi alone which, as expected, forced Yohji to praise the redhead's defense of his boyfriend, even if he was too young and likely to land Aya in jail. After that, there had been a bit of a derailment; Yohji had expected an adamant denial, maybe even an attempt at violence, but Aya had looked directly at him and said simple, "I'm not dating Omi." That pretty much killed the fun.

However, it also opened a world of possibilities. Besides questions of Aya's sexuality (previously assumed nonexistent) based on his lack of blush or denial or anything on the subject of dating boys, Yohji's mind also came around to the truth about naked Aya: people got to see it.

Yohji wanted to see it. He liked Aya, you know, in that special way where you want to throw someone down on the nearest table and conduct activities that were required enthusiastic verbs like ravish and stroke and thrust. Yeah, definitely thrust. He wanted Aya like that, but, much to his surprise, he also kind of wanted the other stuff, the touchy, feely, talk to me all night and let me hold your hand kind of stuff. It was weird.

So throwing Aya down was out, at least until he convinced the man to open up and declare his long-suppressed longings for the Weiss playboy. As to the possibility that Aya did not want him, should such an unlikely event occur, Yohji would simply use his well-honed powers to seduction to bring the redhead into his way of thinking. Really, he had started already, slowly getting into Aya's good graces and coaxing him into actual conversations. It didn't work all of the time, but they had shared a few stories and tonight, tonight Aya had promised to go out with him.

Not on a real date, you know, with kissing and everything. They were supposed to go to a bar for a few drinks.

Alcohol boded well for Yohji, as did the fact that Aya had decided to take a shower before getting ready.

Which brought him back to timing, and to waiting just inside his own bedroom door.

Once Yohji had figured out that Aya didn't abstain from showing skin because of some fierce modesty, he had availed himself of every opportunity to glimpse as much of it as possible. This worked only because he managed to keep his peeping under wraps, not by not letting Aya see him, but by hiding out in the open: he pretended it was no big deal, and to Aya, it wasn't.

The water turned off, and Yohji retreated a bit to listen. There was quiet, then the sink (Aya brushing his teeth—not that he had the process memorized or anything). After that, the door opened and Aya's quiet steps started down the hall.

It was the crucial moment. If he went too soon, he would catch Aya in the hallway, and while seeing him in a towel was a delight long-savored, it wasn't what Yohji needed. However, if he waited too long, he would find himself outside a locked door. Thankfully, Yohji had had a lot of practice with timing. As soon as he heard the doorknob of Aya's room turn, he sprang into action, just as fast and smooth as when he attacked on a mission.

Aya never knew what hit him; either that, or he didn't really care.

Yohji caught him at the opportune moment. He had just opened the door, had one hand on the knob, actually, the other holding his day's clothes near his waist as an extra brace for the towel. Said towel was white and wrapped loosely, hanging low on his thin hips and revealing a tantalizing jut of one hipbone. And his hair was wet; Yohji wasn't sure why he liked that, but there was something about seeing Aya with his hair ruffled from a quick rub with a towel, burgundy with wetness, ear tails trying to curl around his face, that really did it for him.

Of course, the bare chest wasn't hurting anything either. Aya was thin, but swordsmanship had made him muscular. Despite a certain fragileness from certain angles (an illusion), he had none of the gangliness of adolescence. True, he would never have a broad chest or even likely match Yohji across the shoulders, but he was well shaped, the barest hint of ribs under pectorals, fading into what had to be some of the best abs Yohji had ever seen. All unintentional and all delectable. And those nipples; Yohji had never had a thing for a man's nipples, but something about the small, pale pink of Aya's made him want to lick them.

But he couldn't get caught up in staring. That had happened once, and after giving him a funny look and asking if he had a concussion or something, Aya had told him to go lie down.

No, he had to act. So, without permission, Yohji slipped past the nearly-naked Aya and into his bedroom; with an ease that was completely feigned, he dropped onto the bed and stretched his long body down its length. Grabbing one of the pillows, he poked it under his head and made himself comfortable.

Aya lifted an eyebrow at the display, but said nothing. Neither did he move.

"Where do you want to go tonight?" Yohji asked with a grin.

"Can we talk about this later?"

"We're leaving later. And since you insisted on such a long shower . . ." he hinted. Aya sighed silently and shut the door. He gave Yohji a glare in passing, but went to drop his clothes in the plastic basket beside the closet.

The blonde settled further into the bed as he enjoyed one of his favorite parts of Aya's body. It was right there, just above the edge of the towel, the sweeping place where lower back just blended into bottom, delightfully teasing. He wanted to run his fingers over the soft—

"I don't care where we go," Aya interrupted his burgeoning fantasy as he pulled open the closet. When he threw Yohji a look over his shoulder, he found the older man thumbing through his latest novel and not paying him the least bit of attention.

"That's a lie," Yohji stated with good humor.

"Hn."

"Okay, fine. I hope you like the hardcore bondage scene, 'cause I'm all into that shit."

"Liar," Aya returned without animosity as he reached in to pull out a pair of gray leather pants Yohji had never seen him wear.

"How would you know?" he challenged, heart trying to stop in his chest as he waited for the moment it would happen.

"I know," Aya answered.

Then he dropped the towel.

There wasn't any hope of him finding a response. Aya's ass had to be one of the best things he had ever seen. It was as pale as white linen, muscular but not without that tiny bit of cushion that made it perfect for grabbing. Yohji imagined the slight give of warm flesh under his hands, the stronger muscle underneath, tensing, maybe, as he slid his fingers between those two perfect cheeks to probe the puckered ring they concealed.

God, he was getting hard thinking about it, and the realization only made him think of walking up behind Aya, dropping his pants to his knees, and rubbing his half-hard cock against that ass until he pushed inside.

Fuck. He had to cool it or his voyeur jig was going to be up. Among other things.

He didn't know whether to be thankful or regretful as Aya pulled on the pants. There was that first delectable bend which almost showed him everything but pulled back just too quick. Then gray leather slid over ivory flesh to hide it.

No underwear.

And no full frontal. There never was. It was some idea of propriety Aya had, an idea not of hiding himself but of being slightly polite to the man currently leering at him from the bed.

"Do you want to dance?" he managed to ask, daring at a chance to run his fingers over Aya's sides.

The redhead pulled on a black tank top and adjusted it over the top of his pants.

"I'm not very good," he said. Something about the words rang false, but Yohji couldn't get his brain to focus on them when Aya was lacing a studded black belt around his hips. Yohji was thinking about belt buckles, undoing them, slipping his hand down below to get at the zipper Aya had just done up.

"I could teach you." So many things, he thought. At the moment he wanted to teach Aya to give head. It was something about the choker he was snapping around his neck, more subtle than a collar but with all the insinuation that he would be glad to kneel between Yohji's legs and suck his cock. Of course, Aya probably didn't get the subtext.

The look he gave Yohji was disbelieving. It lasted just a second, then Aya knelt to quickly pull on his black boots, tugging his pants down over them.

"What?"

"You'll be busy," he said without turning back to Yohji. He went to the dresser instead to pick up a brush. Yohji sat up to watch him through the mirror.

"What do you mean? We're going out, right?"

"Yes. But," he seemed to lose the words. Setting the brush down, he rested his long fingers just on the edge of the dresser and gave a look to his own reflection. Quickly, he turned, leaning back on the dresser instead. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave Yohji a half-glare. "We're taking my car. When you ditch me for a woman, I want to have a ride home."

"I'm not gonna ditch you."

"Hn," Aya replied as he snatched his keys off the nightstand, giving Yohji just a whiff of the aftershave he was wearing. It was odd, he thought, for Aya not to smell like flowers, but it was spicy and he liked it.

Yohji hurried to stand and smooth his clothes, praying that his lingering excitement wasn't too evident.

"You've got no faith in me," he accused as he followed Aya out the bedroom door. But it was more than that, if it was even that at all; Aya had no faith, no confidence in himself, at least not in this arena. The look he had given himself in the mirror, it was disappointment, like the entire process of dressing had been some useless waste.

Aya didn't know he looked good. Yohji got to see him because Aya thought there was nothing to see.

It was sad and pathetic and wonderful.

He caught Aya by the closet as he was settling his long, leather trench over his shoulders. The younger man waited patiently as Yohji found his own short, black coat and put it on.

"Let's get out of here," he smiled. Aya lifted an eyebrow that was slightly amused, and Yohji slung a casual arm around the redhead and pulled him close. "C'mon, lover."

Aya just shook his head, but he didn't pull away until they reached his Porsche. And, just for a second, Yohji felt him linger in the touch, tentative fingertips ghosting over the blonde's waist before Aya ducked hurriedly out of his grip and slid into the driver's seat.

Yohji smiled.

Maybe tonight was the night.

Maybe he'd finally get to see Aya naked.

~end~

Review, please?


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